


Prelude

by aurekene



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Characters are from the Telltale game thats out, Forresters are really important, Gen, and it's based more off the show than ASOIAF, cried while writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurekene/pseuds/aurekene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's no sound at Ironrath more lovely than that of Talia singing as her brother plays the lute."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy spoilers for the first episode, of Telltale's Game of Thrones -- you've been warned!
> 
> Post - Iron from Ice

When they buried Ethan they gave him a lord's service. They dressed him in his finest garb and made absolutely certain that the mangle that forced all his blood onto the hall floors was concealed -- where the last of his life remained a stain that was far too hard to scrub out. Ramsey Snow's thimble would not be humored. Talia appreciated that above all, but in her glassy eyes there was a certain indignance she would not speak, yet many times as the funeral rites were read, she wanted to stop Maester Ortengryn from proceeding with his solemn speech. Stop him only briefly, and he could continue after they removed the blade from Ethan's grasp. 

Neatly was an ornamental saber tucked against his chest and supported by delicate fingers -- fingers that never held a sword in all of his fourteen years. The blade was beautiful and organic, ivy leaves winding around a great ironwood tree, but it was not Ethan; if Talia had it her way she'd stop the service and stamp her feet until someone, anyone, fetched Ethan's lute. Bury him with what he loved most. Let him strum and compose the best melodies for the Old gods and the New. But she contains this desire within herself as she watches her twin be buried along side her father and Rodrik. If Talia had it her way, Ethan would still be alive. Ryon would haven't been dragged out clawing, kicking, and screaming by Lord Whitehill. It's horrid of her to think so...but Ethan's divine resurrection was at the forefront of her thoughts. More so, how quiet Ironrath was now. 

She remembers being about eight years old when her mother told her and Ethan the story of their birth. "You wouldn't stop crying," She said it pointedly to her brunet son, who blushed and his lip jutted into a pout, but then mother's face softened and her hand ruffled his hair in reassurance. He brightened instantly thereafter. "I cannot recall how many hours it was that you cried, but I will tell you that your wails were heard throughout the North. That's why everyone howls and crows all night when your birthday rolls around." Then Lady Forrester's eyes rested upon Talia's face, in which the petite girl was enthralled with the story mother regaled them with. So much so, that as she told, Talia gripped Ethan's hand and looked at him with a gleam of childish glee; what happened next?

"Then the North went as quiet as it ever had been or will be in centuries when I had you, my darling girl." And then her attention was provided to both of her children, the Forrester Twins. "Ethan didn't cry for the rest of the evening when Talia came into the world. And I do not remember another time since that either of you cried, and the other was not their to console you. Truly, you two are putting me out of the mothering business." The story concluded and Talia embraced Ethan, one in which a boy his age fought but eventually relented -- it was embarrassing for him, his sister could tell but he did share her happiness. It was true that never, ever, did the twins cry and they weren't able to dry each other's tears. 

Talia recalls this memory, word for word, moment for moment, and her tears fall against the lute she clutches to her chest after the service ceases and she finds herself in his bed chamber. They should have buried Ethan with his lute. They should have let him keep it -- she was never good at it like he was. That was why he and those delicate, dexterous fingers pulled and caressed the strings of the instrument to weave a fine, light melody and she provided the lyrics and the harmony, all from the pit of her belly and whispered into the wind. The two of them in their private concerto lulled the grove into slumber every evening when the stars overhead were particularly bright. Talia can't play the lute, and it belongs to Ethan, so it should rest with him. If she had it her way -- 

If, she thinks. But Ethan was more of the voice, if she were being honest. Where she dealt in the realm of logic, truly he was the empath. His voice rings in her mind like a bell and she already knew what he would have said if he were kneeling beside her. 

Ethan would have smiled wryly, the light reaching his eyes. "If you had it your way," He'd parrot at her and shrug. "Why not have it your way?"

Freshly spilled tears thump against his lute, and lightly her index finger plucks the string. Talia whispers the lyrics and the harmony from the pit of her belly, and her fingers weave a melody.


End file.
